P.O.V: Morgan Key Blackwood
After grabbing most of my belongings—which consisted of basically nothing and a little more of nothing—I let myself be escorted by the man who clearly possessed a terminal case of "workplace exhaustion." It was actually pretty decent of him to first take me for a change of clothes and a real meal. Jersey Devil legs might be the part that tastes the least like shit, but at the end of the day, it's still shit.
So, while I happily inhaled my tenth burger from the legally distinct version of "Wacdonald's," I let Silas and his trainee, Miller, watch with a sort of morbid fascination as I demolished everything that hit the table.
"Well, it would be nice to know your name," Silas said, reaching for a cigarette. A single glare from a passing waitress made him tuck it back behind his ear with a disgruntled sigh. "Like I said, you don't officially exist anywhere, and while I'm sure you're not dying to spill your life story, it'd be good to know who you are."
"Morgan Key Blackwood. Damn, this is delicious," I mumbled, my mouth half-full of burger grease. I finished one, immediately reached for my milkshake, and started on the fries. "God, I'm in paradise."
"Yeah, yeah. Junk food and guns—the two pillars of the American Dream, kid." He reached out toward Miller, taking a tablet from the boy's hand. "As we discussed, you'll have a contract. It'll last for about two months, during which you can run missions with us. You'll have access to the good stuff. The rookie bunks in the barracks are free. If you want something better, you've got two options: pay upfront, or earn it. Think of it like a hotel where you can choose between the free bed someone else probably died in, or the 3-to-5 star suites."
I licked the sauce off my fingers and looked at him flatly.
"So, there's free housing that sucks, and if I want to live like a human, I have to pay you back. I'm guessing every other service works the same way? Is this just a move to keep the money and the mercenaries in the same pocket?" I asked, knowing exactly how this game was played.
Back in my world, there was something similar—labor exploitation. They'd pay you not with real money, but with a currency you could only spend within the company town. It was basically slavery with a better marketing team.
"Something like that. But it's all optional. At the end of the day, we're just a workplace for those willing to play ball," he said, reaching over and stealing one of my fries, ignoring my annoyed look. "The money can be used anywhere. It's a special currency recognized by almost all the pantheons—except the Aztecs, the Chinese, and any unffiliated splinter groups."
Well, at least I can spend my hard-earned cash elsewhere, even if the options are limited. I shrugged and opened another burger, stuffing half of it into my mouth while maintaining eye contact.
"We have all kinds of missions," Silas continued, swiping through the tablet. "It's not just 'go here and kill a pile of things' like you've been doing. We have protection details, escorts, scientific or magical support for those with specialized skills... hell, we even have people who need someone to watch their supernatural pets while they're on vacation. Those pay better than you'd think."
"You weren't kidding about the Adventurer's Guild," I said, washing the food down with half a soda. "Anything else I need to know?"
"The usual. It's like a glorified fight club: you don't talk about the Association with anyone you aren't trying to recruit, someone who already knows, or someone you're about to kill. Like I said, the US barely has anyone to protect it from the supernatural, so this group is funded primarily by the Church, the Grigori, and the Norse and Greek pantheons."
I raised an eyebrow, finally pausing my eating. "And why would they do that?"
"Don't go thinking they do it out of the goodness of their hearts," Silas scoffed. "Every group has an angle. Even the Church. The Grigori use us to scout for Sacred Gears—both affiliated mercenaries and fugitives. Their leader has a massive hard-on for that stuff, so he's always buying whatever Intel we can dig up. The Church mostly wants to expand their influence; they're the ones we send the survivors to after they've been traumatized by a stray devil or a pagan ritual. They use that 'I was almost eaten' trauma to fill their pews."
He paused, stealing another fry.
"Then you've got the Norse. They're always looking for warriors worthy of Valhalla. Even if Odin is a 'dirty old man' these days, he's still a crafty old dog who prefers quality over quantity."
He leaned in, his voice dropping as he got to the last one.
"And finally, the Greeks. They basically turned us into glorified babysitters. Most of them can't keep their pants on or their legs closed, so they have hundreds of kids scattered everywhere. They have 'safe zones' where these kids can train and learn their culture before joining the ranks. But the survival rate for these kids reaching the camps is abysmal. So, they hire us as nannies when the kids' powers wake up—because that's exactly when they become a 'free buffet' for every monster in the area. We deliver the kid to camp; they pay us."
You've got to be shitting me. Is this the Percy Jackson premise? I thought this was DxD? Why would that verse be mixed with—? Oh... you have got to be kidding me. A crossover world. I'm in a goddamn crossover world. That damn goddess...
I rubbed my temples and let out a long sigh, staring out the window.
"You don't seem very afraid of insulting gods so casually," I noted. "Aren't you worried about a lightning bolt or something hitting you the moment you step outside?"
Silas shook his head and sighed. "The gods aren't as omniscient as they want you to believe. The closest thing to that is the 'Big G' upstairs with the angels. Most gods don't know you're talking about them unless you're directly addressing them or praying. Otherwise, they'd be listening to five billion people at once. Can you imagine how awkward it'd be for the 'Big G' if he had to hear 'Oh my God' every time someone had sex? He'd never get anything done."
That... actually made a lot of sense. So as long as I don't pray to them or think too loudly in their direction, they're deaf to my thoughts. Good. The Greeks don't exactly have a great reputation in my old world or in anime—usually just a bunch of overpowered brats with egos so big they'll kill you for looking at them funny. And guys like Zeus or Poseidon? If you're their type, you're basically a target.
"What happens if some overpowered idiot decides he wants me in his group and won't take 'no' for an answer?" I asked, wanting to confirm my safety net.
"The main reason is that if you catch the eye of one, you catch the eye of all of them. To gain your favor, or just to piss off the competition, they'll block each other from kidnapping or eliminating you on a whim. So, unless you do something incredibly stupid like mocking them to their faces, the other leaders funding us will keep the peace."
Honestly, that was better than a simple "we'll protect you." Because unless you're packing a Longinus-tier Sacred Gear, you aren't blocking a god and walking away to tell the tale.
"But still, be careful," Silas warned. "They use tricks outside the legal lines. The Greeks love using Aphrodite to 'convince' people, and it's hard to say no to the epitome of female beauty."
I raised an eyebrow. "Is she really that hot?"
"Actually..." Miller finally spoke up. I looked at him, and he turned shy, but he tried to explain anyway. "...s-she is beautiful. But her 'Domain' means that... your own sense of beauty is overwritten. She becomes your symbol of perfection. It's like... even if you like redheads more than anything, the moment you see her, you automatically think her golden hair is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. You can't help it."
Ah. Makes sense. How else can a goddess of beauty be the "most beautiful" to everyone if people have different tastes? If I like 'huge tracts of land' and she shows up as a flat board, my brain just rewires itself to say, "You know what? I've always wanted to learn to surf."
"I get it, I get it," I said, finally finishing everything on the table. My stomach felt full for the first time since I'd arrived in this hellscape of a world.
"Well, with that settled, we should probably get moving," Silas said, standing up and checking his watch.
I followed him out, ignoring the waitstaff who looked at me like I had personally eaten their entire inventory. Miller paid the bill with a look of genuine physical pain on his face.
We reached a certain alleyway. After Silas tapped a specific sequence of bricks, a door manifested out of thin air. Once inside, a magic circle glowed beneath our feet. The sensation hit me like a truck—like an elevator going up too fast, combined with the feeling of my vision blurring as if I were spinning at a thousand miles per hour.
When I opened my eyes, my jaw hit the floor.
How do I even describe this place? It was like the reception area for Heaven, but with a corporate twist. Massive marble pillars, sweeping staircases leading to different levels, and in the center, a huge circular desk staffed by women in uniforms that managed to look professional and "sexy" at the same time. (DxD logic strikes again, I guess?)
People of all races were milling about—humans, Fallen Angels, some guys in Greek-style robes, but most were just wearing normal street clothes or outfits that made them look like the main characters of their own stories. The whole place was lit by floating spheres of pure energy that glowed like miniature suns, bathing the area in a golden hue.
I heard a small chuckle. I looked to my side to see Silas wearing a very punchable smirk, while Miller gave me a sympathetic, knowing smile.
"Welcome, kid," Silas said, gesturing to the grand hall. "Welcome to the Iron Veil."
[End Of Chapter]